Lord of Ashes

FIFTY

The roof of the Chapel of Ghouls provided the perfect vantage point from which to view the city. On any other day Waylian would have appreciated it. Revelled in it. Not now, though. What he could see filled him with dread. A horror he had never felt before, even with everything he had been through.

It was better than what lay on the roof, though.

Behind him his mistress was dead, her body already blackened by the unholy canker she had allowed Bram to infect her with. But her plan had worked.

As the rain poured, the Khurtas had come again, swarming over the walls and through the smashed Stone Gate. The ghouls had met them with all their fury. From the top of the chapel Waylian had been able to see the carnage, their hunger for slaughter, the torn and wasted bodies they left behind. It was for good reason they had been imprisoned for so long — nothing could stand against them.

As the sun came up and the rains halted it seemed the Khurtas had been routed, unable to withstand the feral hunger of the ghouls. They had done enough. It was time for them to return to their prison.

Waylian turned to Bram, whose head was bowed, face hidden by the mass of sodden black hair. He did his best not to glance at Gelredida, whose body lay prone on the roof of the chapel.

‘Call them back,’ Waylian said, as a scream rose from over the city. It was accompanied by an unearthly howl from the depths of the hells itself, reminding him that he needed to act with urgency before the creatures destroyed what remained of Steelhaven.

Bram slowly looked up through his matted hair. Waylian felt his heart stutter as he saw those eyes, blacker than the deepest pit, glaring at him. Though Bram’s hands were still secured in iron manacles it did little to reassure Waylian that he was safe.

‘Why?’ asked Bram, the hint of a smile on his face.

Waylian took a threatening step forward, or at least as threatening as he could muster.

‘This has to end. You’ve done enough.’

Bram shook his head. ‘No, Grimmy. I haven’t done enough by a long sight. I haven’t done enough until this city is flattened and the heads of the dead are piled and rotting higher than the palace of Skyhelm.’

‘You can’t,’ said Waylian, half pleading, half demanding.

‘And who’s going to fucking stop me, Grimmy? You?’

‘If I have to,’ answered Waylian, taking another step across the roof.

Rembram Thule laughed through his yellowing teeth. His manacles jangled as he pulled something from the sleeve of his tattered robe and Waylian stopped when he saw it was the iron dagger he’d used to sacrifice Magistra Gelredida.

‘You’ve got brave in your old age, Grimmy.’ He spun the knife in the air, catching it deftly by the handle. ‘Not that whimpering little puppy you were when I first found you.’

‘I’ve been through a lot,’ said Waylian. ‘And I’m not scared of you.’ His words might have had more impetus if his voice hadn’t cracked while he was saying them.

Bram laughed again. ‘What do you think you’re going to achieve? This city is doomed anyway, look around you.’ He pointed with his knife at the destruction evident in all directions. ‘Let it crumble. Then we can build it anew, in our own image, Grimmy. Imagine that.’

‘What? You think I’m just going to join you?’

‘Yeah, why not? I know we’ve had our disagreements in the past, and we did try to kill one another, but why let a little thing like that get in the way of ruling a kingdom? Think about it; the old order is dead. We are the new, Grimm. You and me.’

Waylian shook his head, eyeing the knife in Bram’s hand. ‘You’re insane.’

‘Now, now,’ said Bram with a frown. ‘There’s no need to be rude.’

‘You are insane.’ Waylian could feel the rage bubbling up inside once more. ‘You’ve always been mad. I thought you were just arrogant and selfish at first but no — you’re a fucking lunatic.’

‘Be careful Gr-’

‘It’s not as if there’s any hiding it now, is there? You’re absolutely barking. Look at you! Rule a kingdom? You couldn’t rule a fucking privy!’

‘I’m not fucking mad!’ Bram yelled, rushing across the rooftop.

Waylian let him come, watching as he held the dagger high in his hands, measuring every step as his feet splashed across the soaked roof. Bram screamed as he came, eyes of black, skin pallid and waxy like he was half ghoul himself.

When he was within reach Waylian kicked out, one swift boot to the bollocks. He was relieved when he struck home and Bram collapsed, his cry of rage rising a couple of octaves. The knife went spinning from his hand and Waylian pressed in, leaping on top of Bram as he fell.

‘Call them off, Bram,’ shouted Waylian, grabbing him by the lapels of his robe and slamming him back to the tiled roof. ‘Call them off!’

He slammed Bram down again, smashing his head against the rooftop.

‘Fuck you,’ Bram answered, punching out with his manacled hands and catching Waylian under the chin.

Blood spurted into his mouth as Waylian was thrust backwards, falling from Bram and splashing in a puddle on the roof. As he foundered, Bram stood up, glaring down with black eyes.

‘I’ll destroy this fucking city,’ Bram said, black smoke emanating from his hands as they began to elongate, talons springing from their tips. ‘But first I’ll destroy you like I should have done last time.’

Waylian could taste the copper tang of blood on his lips, his head spun, but still he managed to focus on Bram. In the air his former friend was tracing a sigil with those black talons, magicks of the most dark and evil nature. Waylian could feel something stirring from beyond the Veil, could sense whatever it was would consume him utterly, perhaps even eat his soul.

It would not happen. He would not let it.

He slapped a hand on the shallow wall that ran around the roof, staring through his muddled sight as he dragged himself to his feet. Bram opened his mouth to speak, to unleash all the hells, but he was not quick enough.

Waylian uttered a word.

In that instant he understood it all. He tapped the Veil, feeling the planes of magick that hid in the shadow of the plane of men. It was terrifying and beautiful all at once, birth and death, elation and agony. And Waylian Grimm embraced it; let himself flow beyond and within it like he had been born to the task.

A voice from deep within issued forth, a command he could not comprehend, and Bram screamed, high-pitched and deafening, as his left eye exploded from his head in a shower of crimson gore. He clapped a clawed hand to his face and, still whining, he staggered to the edge of the rooftop, the backs of his knees catching on the wall behind him. Bram reached out, but with manacled hands he could not stop himself as he was tipped back off the roof of the chapel.

Waylian didn’t rush to see what had happened. There was no time left to check if Bram was dead. He half stumbled, half crawled to the centre of the rooftop where lay the sacrificial dagger. Grasping it in both hands, feeling the iron unnaturally cold to his touch, he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth …

The beast had a thousand eyes. With them he could see every street and alley in the city, could see the dead as they lay amidst the carnage, see the fleeing masses as they were hunted down and slain. The beast lay fat over the land, spreading its girth from the apex where Waylian stood. From the prison whence it had been released. Unleashed to hunt and kill as it had done so many aeons ago.

No more.

Waylian drew it in. Breathing deep and pulling back the beast.

It protested — it mewled and it whined and it clawed at the ground, desperate to remain free.

He could not allow that …

Waylian knelt atop the Chapel of Ghouls, gripping tight to that dagger, his lips moving silently as he recited ancient and forbidden litanies he would never remember in any waking moment, nor would ever want to.

Monsters that should never have been allowed to roam the lands of men were dragged back to their eternal prison.

And the city screamed.